


Your Shadow Was Never Cold; Only Your Wake

by gutturalmess



Series: Deleted Scenes [7]
Category: CodotVerse, DC - Fandom, DCU
Genre: CodotVerse DCAU - Freeform, Gen, Nashton Family Portrait, The Invisible Mother, The Pacifistic Sister, The Shame on the Family Name, The Wrathful Father
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 06:00:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19144978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gutturalmess/pseuds/gutturalmess
Summary: A sister is both a mirror - and your opposite. Edward seen through the eyes of his sister.





	Your Shadow Was Never Cold; Only Your Wake

Your first memory is his face: you’ll still be able to recall this moment many years later. Eddie had handed you a crayon, his face all earnest encouragement.  
“Write your name, Susie,” he said. You looked down at the crayon in your fist, then looked up at your brother.  
“Go on,” he urged. “I know you can do it.”  
You looked down at the crayon again. You were unsure of what he was asking; his words were clear, but the meaning fogged in your brain.  
“I could write my name when I was three,” he went on patiently. “And because you’re my sister, you can, too.”  
You stared down at the crayon in your hand, and came to a conclusion. Full of confidence, you put the crayon in your mouth and bit down on it. Eddie laughed, and so did you. Sure you had done right, you waved your arms with a squawk of happiness and threw your tiny body onto his, intending to tackle him to the carpet. Eddie easily caught you in the attempt, still laughing.  
“Bruvver,” you said, one simple word plumbing the depths of your heart. Your voice came out muffled against his sweater; his arms squeezed you tight.

*

When you were six and he was ten, Eddie would walk you to school. You took his hand like you were told to, and he never resisted; he let you. People his own age would laugh at him, holding hands with his little sister. You didn’t understand the cruel vibes they seemed thrilled to throw his way; it was so foreign to you that you forgot them all. Looking up at your brother, the sun seemed to shine from him. You would smile, and so would he, the light catching on his glasses. Sometimes, when he thought you couldn’t see, he would flip them the bird. The retaliation would inevitably result in a black eye, or some kind of bruise or scrape - temporary wounds made by temporary feelings; never anything lasting.

*

When he was fourteen, you brought him his homework while he convalesced in the hospital. The first two days, he said nothing at all, not a peep. But you didn't let that stop you: you knew he was mad at the world, mad at your Daddy, but not mad at you. On the third day, he spoke.  
“Zuzu.”  
“Eddie?”  
You perked up instantly; you had missed his voice. It didn’t have its usual singsong quality that you loved so much because it was uniquely his; it sounded flat.  
“I’m not afraid anymore.”  
“That’s great!” You paused. “Of what?”  
For the first time, he turned to look at you. You grimaced when you saw how black and purple his face was; his glasses were still on the bedside table because he hadn’t been able to put them back on.  
“Of Pop,” he replied.  
“Well, that’s great, too.” You waved a hand. “Can you see me?”  
“I know it’s you, Zuzu. You have a smell.”  
“Shut up!” You sniffed yourself. “You smell.”  
He tried to laugh, and had to stop; he held a hand to his chest in pain. “Ow.”  
“Sorry, Eddie,” you said, contrite; he sighed.  
“Are you coming back to see me tomorrow?”  
“Yup!” You trilled, bouncing in your chair.  
“Good,” he murmured, smiling. “Could you bring me my screwdriver? I’ll need to fix my glasses again.”  
“I’m sure if you just asked real nice…”  
“Or I could whistle for it. Are you going to bring them or not?”  
“‘Course I will.”  
“Thank you.”  
Eddie reached out a hand, waving it slightly in the air as he couldn’t make out your location. Smiling, you grabbed it.  
“Gotcha,” you whispered.  
“Yeah.”

*

Eddie become more solitary than before; he was like an iceberg. By the time he was fifteen, he was taking Sudoku puzzles and crossword books to class instead of textbooks; he ignored the teachers but always had the answer to any question they had. Most of them were either afraid or annoyed, though largely left him alone, figuring his friendless state was punishment enough; there was one particular teacher who sought to make an example of him. You didn’t find out until much later why he finally backed off: Eddie had produced some incriminating photographs of him with one of the cheerleaders. On top of being left alone, Eddie never had to take another test for that class. That was fine with him - he’d never particularly enjoyed chemistry, anyway.

*

Around the time Eddie was sixteen, your father noticed he never brought any girls home. Daddy would tease initially - hinting that Eddie didn’t have to keep them hidden away. But Eddie would shrug, roll his eyes, and flatly insist that there was no one; he simply wasn’t interested. Daddy didn’t take that well. He started calling Eddie a new name, one he said with such venom that it must be the worst thing in the world - but Eddie would only shrug, not caring. Eddie would say it was an example of their father’s neanderthal brain that he could think something so backward… it was pathetic really, but then what could you expect? Instantly all the colour left your Daddy’s face, followed up by a rush of red blood to his cheeks; Eddie paid for that one. But from the way he laughed when your Daddy stormed out again, it must have been small change.

*

You’d think that geniuses never needed to cheat - and really, they don’t. Not for a lack of intellect, anyway - it’s based in competitiveness. When you’re the best, you have to stay the best. And when you’re not one hundred percent sure if you’re going to be the victor, then more drastic measures must be taken to ensure your resounding success. You were shocked when he told you this; he had sworn up and down to your Daddy that he didn’t need to cheat - which wasn’t a lie, he grinned. But was he sorry? Only that I got caught, he griped. I’ll have to refine my methods, next time. You’re going to do it again? You asked, awed. Whenever I need to, he said. Playing by the rules is for suckers. 

*

Your most vivid memory is one that you can never share with anyone. When you turned fourteen, puberty took you with a vengeance. It seemed you were destined to be the first to get everything, out of you and your girlfriends - periods, breasts, hips. The boys were… attentive, to say the least. You were flattered, of course, because you’d never had that kind of attention before. Eddie, about to turn eighteen and perpetually halfway out the door, would look at you over top of his book and scowl like he hadn’t given you permission to age. You were soon to find that one of the joys of high school was that it giveth and it taketh away in disparate measure: this had been something Eddie learned a long time ago. Therefore, when one of your admirers popped up outside of your window with a camera while you were changing clothes, your brother was ready for him. It happened right in front of your eyes, and over in an instant; there was a flash, a thump, and the boy disappeared from your sight. Only Eddie stood in the window now, glaring down at the fallen boy with disgust. You gasped, and he looked up at you; told you to stay where you were. Passersby found the unconscious boy at the foot of a nearby tree; it was assumed that he’d fallen out of it. The camera, much like its owner, took a heavy blow from a socket wrench before it joined its assailant at the bottom of the lake. When Eddie returned, he took you in his arms. You were so scared for him, terrified that someone would take him away from you; you panicked. But he was so calm, stroking your hair while you cried.  
“It’s alright, Zuzu,” he smiled.  
“But how do you know?”  
“Look, whatever happens - I want you to know that you’re worth much more than what some _boy_ ,” he practically spat, “thinks of you.”  
“I, I won’t tell anyone,” you babbled, frantic to keep him safe. “Ever. Never ever. I swear.”  
He just smiled again. “I know.”  
The boy said he remembered nothing, but something must have stuck; no one dared come near you, after that. At least… until he was gone.

*

You father said he was dead, your mother refused to acknowledge he ever existed - he changed his name, but you knew it was him on the TV screen. That beaming, overconfident redhead could be none other than your brother, the one who hung the moon. Your brother's criminal career lit up in lights, constantly rotating on a newsreel carousel, made up the background soundtrack of your life. You never admitted to him being your brother - you weren't stupid, you knew that got people killed - but you refused to bow to your father's stipulation that he was dead, either. You eventually settled on not mentioning him at all and holding him close to your heart, where he was safe. Nothing penetrated the armour you had put around yourself, the day that he left. Your father’s twisted words, your mother’s denial - you did your best to block it all out, to preserve the man you loved. You saw that Eddie looked happy, so you were, too. For him. There was one thing that hurt, still hurts you, to this day.  


That he didn’t trust you enough to tell you he was leaving. That, when it came down to it, he counted you as one of _them_.


End file.
